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The last of Baylcothrom's troops are led west in an attempt to appease the demands of the High King in his drawn out war with the Yehsaelie.

Albyia

 

By

 

Eddie Davis

 

© 2017

 

 

 

1.

 

Prince Bródúil sat tall and proud in the saddle, trying his best to convey an air of maturity and confidence that the young elven man did not possess.     Behind him marched the very last of the able bodied men of Baylcothrom, adorned in what remained of the kingdom's armor.

Long gone were the fine suits of Elven chainmail and plate armor, for they had equipped the first several regiments of soldiers that had marched out to support Albyia's human High King.

Never to return again.

Nine thousand foot soldiers lost, and then the High King demanded that the elite Elven Horse Troop come to assist his troops.    His father had refused to send all of them at once; sending four hundred each time King Reddric VII demanded more to fight his never-ending war against the Yehsaelie in the dark forests to the west.

How could his father have refused Reddric?    It would have been interpreted as sympathy for the fellow fae races and would have finally given the High King reason to siege the last elven kingdom in Albyia.

So his father had sent off all of his soldiers, little by little and had commanded the last two hundred of the Elven Horse Troop in person, hoping that his presence might ensure success this time.

But none returned and several months later came a messenger from Reddric, telling of his father's death in battle, proclaiming Bródúil as the next king of Baylcothrom and, as always, demanding more help from his subordinate king.

A king who was barely an adolescent.   Yet Bródúil had refused to place his father's crown on his head, until he was satisfied that the king had died as Reddric claimed.

So with an air of doom and gloom, he had mustered any elven man that had ever served as a soldier.   Then he had asked for those willing to be trained (quickly) to serve.    Finally, he had drafted those who refused to answer the call to arms.    Never in the history of the kingdom had men been drafted to fight.

Now a rag-tag band of 6,500 men marched sullenly westward in the rain to try to achieve victory that had alluded all those who had gone before them.

Only the very young, very old and handicapped remained of the males of his kingdom.   Nearly all of them were human or half-elves that had chosen a mortal life rather than elven immortality.   If they failed and did not return, there would be no man left able to defend the small kingdom of Baylcothrom from invasion.  

The thought weighed heavily on the young prince's heart as he rode forth at the head of his men.

“Well, at least it isn’t raining today,”   Puan, his father’s house steward said as he rode behind his late master’s only son.

“I’m really worried, Puan, I can’t shake the feeling that we are riding into a trap.”

“Another one of a multitude that has devastated our nation and your father’s household, Your Majesty.”

The Prince looked over at the middle-aged human, “Puan, do you think we’re in trouble?”

“Oh yes, we are quite likely riding to our deaths.    All of it arranged by The High King, years ago.    He has systematically eliminated almost all of the male elves in Baylcothrom, and once you have ‘sacrificed’ yourself for his doomed cause, Reddric will take control of Baylcothrom.    It will cease to exist and then become part of Reddric’s lands.   I shudder to think what will become of the widows and children of elven heritage under Reddric’s rule.    Your sisters’ futures greatly worries me, Your Majesty.”

Prince Bródúil paled, visibly shaken by the image put in his mind by Puan.   The human touched the Prince’s shoulder compassionately.

“Sire, I apologize for my candor.    I don’t mean to burden you with more worry.   The task ahead of us is more than sufficient to require your full attention.”

“Yes, but my sisters, Puan!”

“Both are very intelligent and resourceful young women, Sire!     They will know what to do.”

“Reddric won’t give them much choice.    He won’t recognize them as legitimate heirs of the throne.    Yesh, have mercy!    It is so clear now, Puan!    We’re not leading a troop to assist the royal soldiers at all.   This whole thing is just an excuse to murder me.   I’ll die in battle and his hands will be clean of my blood!”

Puan held up a finger to his lips, gesturing with his head toward a pair of royal legates that rode a short distance behind them.   Although the legates were out of the range of hearing their conversation, Reddric’s men were watching them like hawks.

“Be cautious, My Lord, we are accompanied by the High King’s escort.”

“That is another thing, Puan,” Prince Bródúil said, his voice lowered to a whisper, “They sent five hundred royal guards to escort us to the front.   Doesn’t that seem crazy to you?    Why take five hundred men away from a battle that you are losing, to ‘escort’ 6,500 men?   Why would Reddric do that?   Not for protection, and we certainly know the way.”

“I imagine it was to ensure that you comply with his order.   He knows that this is the last of our able-bodied men.”

“We should stop now before it’s too late!   We outnumber the escort thirteen to one!   We’ll head back home!”

Puan shifted slightly on his horse, frowning, “Your Majesty, I applaud your bravery and determination, but what do you think will be the consequences of such a bold act of defiance?”

“Well...I...I guess it would... not be a good idea.”

“Because Reddric would certainly have an excuse to take Baylcothrom then.   No, it wouldn’t work.”

“So... what do I do, Puan?”

The steward sighed, “My Lord, your father had a favorite saying that you probably are aware of, but I will repeat it to you.    He was fond of saying, ‘It is better to fight nobly in an impossible battle than to flee from a fight to save your life.’ “

“He really believed that, Puan.”

“As I suspect you do as well, Your Majesty.”

“Yeah... I guess I do.”

 

They rode in silence for a long time, the young prince lost in his struggle over the proper thing to do.

A quarter of an hour later, the regiment came upon a sight that few of them had ever seen:  the raised brick and metal platform of the northern-most part of the famed ‘Arcane Train’.    The structure looked like a stone brick wall with a pair of metal rails on top of it, ten feet in height and twenty in width, running east and west.    Not many in the company knew that they were within a few miles of where the railway took a sharp turn back south, due to Baylcothrom refusing to allow the Practical Magic transportation system to be constructed in the old elven kingdom.

It was another point of contention between Reddric and the royal house of Baylcothrom, though the rail system did not run through the Yehsaelie forest, nor several of the mountainous petty kingdoms in the middle part of the island.

But Reddric had built a station at the border of Baylcothrom and the large ecclesiastical duchy of St. Wemricshire, which bordered the elven kingdom on the south.   

Now the huge cars of the train lumbered at about forty miles an hour, following the course of the rails which guided their steel wheels, powered by Practical Magic.    Two trains made continual loops around the island, each train completing a meandering circuit of 4,250 miles every five and a half days, which included twenty stops of one hour each at various cities and towns across Albyia.  

Every three days one of the trains would come into a station, unloading passengers and cargo, then taking on more before heading off again.

Few, other than the Practical Magicians that had created and maintained the system, knew how the magic propelled (and stopped) the trains.    But not everyone was thrilled with the advanced transportation system.     Many felt that the rail system infringed on their communities and endangered their sense of isolation.

It was that sentiment that had led King Bróthanmoic VIII on behalf of his people, to reject Reddric’s request to extend the ‘arcane train’ system into Baylcothrom, twenty years ago.  

Perhaps that helped contribute to his death, Prince Bródúil thought bitterly, finding thoughts of his father especially painful today.

 

Lost in the memories of his father, the miles passed by for an hour and a half without the prince aware of his surroundings.    With Puan at his side, he’d be advised if there was anything that needed his attention.

It was a low, but noticeable murmuring from the men walking behind his horse that finally drew Prince Bródúil back into full consciousness.    Looking around as if coming out of a deep sleep, he was surprised to see that his regiment was entering a narrow valley with high rocky cliffs on each side.   Strewn on the winding path ahead of them were thousands of rocks of all sizes.

“Where are we?”   The Prince asked Puan.  

“I believe this is known as Vulture’s Pass, Your Majesty.   It is a short-cut that will save us half of a day’s travel,”   The Steward replied with a reassuring smile.

“I didn’t know about this.   It seems very dangerous; the men sense it too, Puan.”

Puan shrugged, “It’s a short-cut, Your Majesty, it isn’t intended to be used as a regular road.”

Something about the older man’s reply, coupled with the strange look in his eyes made Prince Bródúil very uneasy.

“Did you know about this, Puan?”

“Yes, My Lord.   The legates outlined the route to me several days ago, but I didn’t think this would trouble you, so I didn’t mention the pass to you.”

“It looks very dangerous to me, Puan.    Those rocks all around the path probably fell off the side of those steep cliffs.    It would be an ideal place for an ambush.”

Perhaps hearing the elven prince’s uneasiness, one of the High King’s legates spurred his horse forward until he was riding along side Puan and Prince Bródúil.    The burly human bowed slightly in the saddle with a look of mildly suppressed contempt.

“Your Highness, do not be alarmed by the pass.   It is too steep to be used by anyone as an ambush and our forces control it.   We’ll save many hours riding through the mountains by taking this route.”

“How long is this pass?”

“About three miles, Your Highness, but believe me, it is worth the effort of navigation.   Earl Loris and I will ride on ahead and scout out the path to make sure it is clear of larger boulders.   Don’t worry, sire, we’ll make sure the way is safe.”

“I could send some of my men, “The Prince volunteered.

“That is most generous, Your Highness, but none of them know the pass like we do.    We want to put your mind at rest.     I’ll take half of my escort with us, and the other half will fall back to guard our rear flank - that way both directions into the valley will be covered.    We don’t want you or your brave men to be uneasy.”

“But-“    Prince Bródúil began to protest, but the legate ignored him and put his fingers to his lips and whistled.    Immediately the other legate and exactly half of the High King’s escort rode forth to join him, while the others fell back toward the rear.

“You must have had this planned,”   The Prince mumbled under his breath as the legates and their escort now rode ahead at a quick pace.

Prince Bródúil turned to question Puan, but his steward no longer rode beside him.   Alarmed, the Prince spun around looking for him, but Puan had simply disappeared.   

His heart raced, as he glanced behind him.    All of the regiment was now within the pass, and he could see half the High King’s escort riding at a quick pace toward the rear.   Turning to look up the pass, the legates and their men were riding at the same hurried pace.

“Dear God,”   Prince Bródúil exclaimed, standing up in his saddle and holding up his hand.

“Troop, stop!”   He called loudly to those following him.    Thoughts tumbled through his brain, at such a rapid pace that he was completely unsure what to do.

Voices from his regiment were calling out questioningly to him.

“Majesty?   What is it?” 

“FALL BACK!”

“Prince Bródúil?  What-“

“FALL BACK!   Get out of the pass!   It’s a trap!   Fall back!”

Before any of the regiment could decide what course of action they would take, there was a loud horn sounding from somewhere high above them along the top of the cliffs.

Rocks began falling from above, flung from the heights and bouncing off the sides of the pass as they dropped.

A wild terror overcame the young elven prince and he rammed his spurs into the side of his mount.    The terrified horse bolted forward, toward the far end of the pass in the direction that the legates had disappeared.    Maybe I can draw them off of my men and give them time to escape, Prince Bródúil thought, praying that the ambush was focused on him rather than eliminating the regiment.

Rocks and boulders crashed around him, but thankfully his horse avoided them.     Everything was a blur to him now.   The Prince thought he saw several crumpled, half-decayed corpses underneath some of the larger boulders that littered the floor of the pass, but he was moving too fast and was too scared to focus on them.

Is this where my father and all of our soldiers were murdered?   He wondered as a large rock bounced off his shoulder’s armor plate, nearly sending him tumbling off his horse.

Sharp pain coursed through him, but he stayed on his mount.   A huge boulder crashed just in front of them, causing his horse to rear up to avoid it.     Prince Bródúil fell backwards onto the path.   His horse retained his footing and raced on ahead without him.

“I’m doomed,”   He spoke aloud as he struggled to get to his feet in the somewhat heavy elven plate armor without the use of his left arm.   His men were far behind him and he could hear their screams and shouts as they mixed with the crash of rocks echoing up and down the valley.    A large rock seemed to come out of nowhere and slammed into him, pinning his legs beneath it.

If only I could send word to my sisters, he thought, thankful that shock kept all pain from him for at least the moment.

In the midst of the volley of rocks and boulders and the sounds of trapped men dying, he became acutely aware of the call of a single crow.   Gasping for breath as he stared upwards at the missiles sailing down from the top of the pass, he was aware of the crow as he flew toward him.

As if in a trance, Prince Bródúil held out his arm and the large black bird landed on his forearm like a trained falcon.    He remembered the fairy tales told him by his mother as a small child, how the ancient elven kings and queens had magic so strong that some could command the animals to obey them.

With a dazed look on his face, Prince Bródúil turned and spoke to the crow.

“Find my sisters in the royal palace in Trilyum, in Baylcothrom.    Tell them that we were ambushed in a place called Vulture’s Pass, and  my men and I died due to treachery and betrayal.   Tell them to beware of Reddric and to guard their lives by whatever means they have to do.    I go to join our father in a better place.    Tell them of my eternal love for them.”

The crow looked at him for a moment with intelligent eyes, cawed twice and flew off.    The Prince craned his neck to watch it fly, thankful to see that at least it flew in the general direction of Baylcothrom.

More and more rocks of larger sizes began raining down upon him.    Prince Bródúil closed his eyes and awaited death.

 

***

 

The training yard of the royal army of Baylcothrom was devoid of any soldier; even the servants and staff had long ago been sent in compliance with High King Reddric’s decree.      But in one small section - a sand covered circular area set up for close combat training with swords and shields- there was one glimmer of activity.

An elderly man; past his fighting prime by many years, but still clearly a skilled veteran, stalked a young woman with a wild mane of copper red hair.

The young lady - who physically appeared much, more mature than she really was- watched the older man with the eyes of a hawk.

He moved suddenly, with speed incredible for his age, swinging his round shield wide at her, while thrusting forward at the same time with the long sword.

She deflected the shield with her blade, only to feel the blunted sword blade impact her ornate golden breastplate that he had insisted that she wear during training.   The force of impact knocked her backwards, but she kept her footing and began to move forward toward him.     Master Shayne, however, lowered his sword and shield.

“You would be dead or at least seriously wounded, Your Highness, if this was actual combat.”

“My armor would have stopped it,”   Kyara protested, her face flushed with frustration at being beaten again by the old man.

“I doubt you would have worn such a valuable piece of armor in actual battle, Princess.”

“Well it was your idea that I wear it for this match!”

“For this very reason!   I knew it would stop a blow.   Even a dulled sword can kill a person if it is thrust with enough force.    Elven chainmail might have kept it from penetrating, but the blunt force would have knocked you down and an enemy would have moved in for the kill.”

Kyara sighed, her shoulders sagging, “I just can’t master it.”

“On the contrary, you are learning quite quickly.   I would say that you are on par with most of our soldiers.   But I want you to be the best that you can be.”

“I’m afraid I might be that already.    I guess I should always make sure to wear plate armor in battle.”

“You should always make sure to avoid all battles at all times!”   Master Shayne replied, giving her his usual scowl.   It was merely for effect though, for though he wouldn’t admit it, the old man was completely captivated by Princess Kyara.  

Of course that was nothing that would have greatly surprised or alarmed the young woman, for it was the curse of being a daughter of a Nymph.    There were no male Nymphs, and the only way the race reproduced was with those of elven or fae stock.    

Every offspring of such a fae or elven union was a female, and regardless of their paternal ancestry, they were always full Nymphs.   Nymphs could breed with humans, and yet when a child was born such a union it was always a rather strange, sickly-looking male child that always died before reaching puberty.   Humans called these cursed offspring ‘Changelings’, though the name had once belonged to another, unrelated (and long extinct) fae race.

 So though Kyara and her older sister were technically half elven through their father, they wore the extremely shapely, sensual forms of the Nymph race.

Irresistible to not only elves and fae beings but also to all human males; they were sought after, pursued and desired by any man who saw them.   

Unlike her sister, Avalynn, Princess Kyara hated her nymph heritage.    She was an elf, the daughter of the late king and the half-sister of Prince Bródúil and she felt loyalty to the royal house and to the kingdom of Baylcothrom.

Which is why she insisted on being trained to handle weapons.

 

It was not quite scandalous, but still not acceptable for an elven woman - especially a princess- to fight in battle like a man.   But Baylcothrom was only a mere shadow of its former glory - thanks to the High King’s taxes and draft of all the men.    Desperate times led to desperate measures.    So she was allowed to train, though her brother had required her to dress like a woman in skirts.

Then Shayne had added the demand that she wear a breastplate.     There were few pieces of armor left in the kingdom and most were damaged or were being repaired by the few armorers that remained.

So she had found the armor that her mother had occasionally worn on royal parades when she would review the soldiers.    It wasn’t combat armor, but merely a golden breastplate and several pieces of armor for the arms, worn over a royal dress.    

Still, the armor had been designed for the queen and was enchanted.   Magic armor was extremely rare anymore and the armor was kept under lock and key when Kyara wasn’t using it.    Avalynn had been livid when their brother had allowed her to wear it.     

It disgusted her that Kyara would not carry herself in keeping with her royal status.   

 

She shook her head to clear thinking about her older sister.   They had once been close as children, but the older they became the more they disagreed with each other.

“You are not listening to me, Princess; I can see that far away look in your eyes.”

“Sorry, Master Shayne… what were you saying?”

Before the weapons master could reply, they were abruptly interrupted by a huge black crow that seemed to come out of nowhere.    The bird landed loudly on Kyara’s shoulder which caused the girl to cry out in alarm.

But only for a moment, for just as she reacted toward the animal it turned to her, opened up its’ beak and began speaking.

To her and Shayne’s bewilderment, it spoke in the voice of her half-brother, Prince Bródúil.

“Find my sisters in the royal palace in Trilyum, in Baylcothrom.    Tell them that we were ambushed in a place called Vulture’s Pass; that  my men and I died due to treachery and betrayal.   Tell them to beware of Reddric and to guard their lives by whatever means they have to do.    I go to join our father in a better place.    Tell them of my eternal love for them.”

Kyara let out a mournful scream as soon as her brother’s voice ceased.    The crow flew off as Kyara sank down to the ground.    Shayne rushed to her side, “Princess!”

“I’m alright!   Go find Avalynn!”

“But-“

“Please, Shayne!   Go find her; hurry!”

The old man jumped to his feet and rushed off as quickly as he could, glancing back in concern at the overwrought girl lying on the ground.

Reviews

[Elina]

I was terribly excited to see another book from you, Eddie. And I must say (having already read all of the chapters that you have posted, so far), I am not disappointed. This book has a different feel to it than your others, but not in a bad way. I don't even quite know how to describe it, or where the differences lie (for it still has your special touch). But there is, indeed, something about this novel which is different than the rest. I am completely enthralled with this story, and so look forward to reading it to completion.


A few things that I noticed:
"to support Albyia's human High King.
Never to return again." Here, "Never to return again" is an incomplete sentence.
"Your sisters’ future greatly worries me, Your Majesty.” I believe this should be "Your sisters' futures greatly worry me..."
"...and I and my men died due to treachery and betrayal." This should read, "...and my men and I..." Also, later in the chapter, when the crow gives this same message.
"The young lady - who physically appeared much, much older than she really was..." The image that came to mind when I first read this portion was of an old woman. It took me a bit to realize that she is well-developed, so to speak, for her age.
"...that he had insisted that she wear during training" You can probably remove the second "that."
"Avalynn had been livid when their brother had allowed her to wear it.
It disgusted her that Kyara would not carry herself in keeping with her royal status.
She shook her head to clear thinking about her older sister." You sort of jump back and forth between the two sisters, here. In particular, a reader might be confused by the last sentence, "She shook her head..." Before this sentence, you speak of Avalynn, but the one shaking her head is Kyara. A reader might miss this, and think that Avalynn is the one shaking her head.

[Eddie Davis]

Thanks, Elina, this was a very difficult book to complete and I wondered several times if i would finish it.